


Winterchild

by wildwinterwitch



Series: Cloisters [10]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Baby!Fic, F/M, description of childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwinterwitch/pseuds/wildwinterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“She might be born in winter,” the Doctor said, “but we made her in summer.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winterchild

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Contains description of childbirth (about as graphic as they come on _Call the Midwife_ ).

The Doctor had given me a back rub for the pain before I went to bed, and for a short while I had even been able to get comfortable. What kept me from sleep was a kind of restlessness that I’d experienced a few times during the past months, a kind of anxiety of what was to come. Fenia and Giorgia had reassured me that it was quite normal to be feeling this way, but they hadn’t lost a child before. I never took my luck for granted, I always feared that something might happen that would send the fates to snatch our child away from us, deciding that we didn’t deserve him after all. The days leading up to the point in my pregnancy when I’d given birth to Jonah were especially difficult.

So far, however, everything had gone well. The Doctor had filled the sketchbook I had made for him with countless sketches of me and my growing bump, he had also added a couple of sentences here and there. It was a beautiful diary, and although there weren’t any complications and I felt well most of the time I was afraid that one day the sketches would disappear to join Jonah’s book.

Our child, even unborn, never ceased to amaze us. It was that thought, I think, that I kept repeating on those nervous days that allowed me to get some rest eventually. It was my mantra. It helped me nod off despite the crazy thoughts and despite the dreaded dreams that night. It was a sharp stabbing pain in my lower back that roused me from sleep. My eyes flew open and I was wide-awake at once. The pain was so sudden that I didn’t even have time to moan, but I took a few deep breaths to be prepared in case the pain returned.

The Doctor hadn’t spent the night with me, or if he had, his latest project had already lured him away. Most of the time I didn’t mind, because we only had a couple of weeks before the baby came, and he wanted to get as much as possible done so he could dedicate his time to us. Sometimes, like this morning, I did mind. It was one of those nervous days, and I wanted him by my side.

Slowly I disentangled myself from the nest of pillows and covers that kept me warm and comfortable. This winter was even colder than the last, but this time we had decided to live mostly in the bedroom rather than the painted room. I sat up and gazed at the cot standing in one corner of the room. The paint was a lot more worn than that of the ship. I’d wondered about this quite often; shouldn’t it be the other way round? One being hardly used and the other being travel-battered? How many babies, apart from the Doctor himself, had slept in there?

I pulled my robe on over my pyjamas and tried to find my slippers with my feet alone. The days when I could easily bend over were long gone. The Doctor had made it his job, when he got up, to position my shoes so that I could easily slip into them. Momentarily dizzy, I rose slowly and carefully stretched. Once again I felt as if I’d swallowed a planet. A growing planet.

“Good morning, _iyo_ ,” the Doctor said. He’d been standing just inside the door the whole time, watching me. Now he pushed himself away from the doorframe and brought me a mug of ersatz _maklak_. I accepted it with a grateful kiss, the warmth of the ceramic warming my hands. Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever have warm hands again, or if they’d be colder than the Doctor’s from now on.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.

He cupped my cheek. “Are you all right?” He looked at me searchingly.

“Yeah,” I said, sipping the hot drink. “It’s just one of those days. I feel a bit antsy.”

“Would you like me to stay at home today? We’ve had more snow overnight,” he said.

I didn’t want that. I was tying him down anyway, so I didn’t want him to stay away from his work as well. “No, I’ll be all right.”

“You aren’t working on something, are you?” he asked. His tone had gone from tender to sharp in a matter of heartsbeats.

“‘Course not,” I said, offended. I laid my hand on his arm. “I promised, remember?”

He harrumphed. He still didn’t trust me; it hurt, but it was my own fault, so I accepted it. I had to. It was my sole punishment.

“Don’t be grumpy,” I said, heaving myself onto the tips of my toes to kiss him.

“I’m just worried.” He dropped his hand to caress my stomach. The baby promptly acknowledged his father’s touch with a kick. I gasped, nearly letting go of the mug. “Someone’s excited,” I breathed, arching my back a bit to alleviate the ache. I needed the loo. I passed the Doctor the mug.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be back for lunch, so I’ve put something in the haybox cooker. It should be done by the time you get hungry,” the Doctor called after me as I waddled outside. The additional layer of snow looked lovely in the garden, and the morning was crisp and grey. I sniffed the air and knew that there would be more snow that day. I sighed. For once I was glad I didn’t have to go to the shop.

“Are you really all right?” he asked again, catching up with me just outside the bathroom.

My back was killing me, and I’d have loved another one of his massages, but I didn’t want him to worry. “Yeah. Now go.”

He swept down for a kiss. It was surprisingly passionate, and I was beginning to wonder if there was something he wasn’t telling me, but I was afraid to ask. I caressed my stomach in wide circles as he left and decided to get ready for the day.

I was stepping out of the shower when I felt another sharp twinge that made me gasp, and the dull ache in my back intensified; it was worse than the night before. I was so tired. Caressing my stomach, massaging the lotion Fenia had given me into the taut skin, I whispered to my child. “It won’t be long now, little one. Only a couple more weeks.” I wasn’t sure who I was trying to reassure. The baby, however, seemed to calm down at my regular strokes. I went to the cold study to get my notebook. I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired, but perhaps I’d be struck by an idea for how to fix a book and I’d be able to concentrate on it. It was work, but it wasn’t the kind of work the Doctor objected to.

Somehow I managed to lose myself in the sketches after all, and it was close to lunchtime when another sharp pain took my breath away. And then, suddenly, my water broke, right in the kitchen as I was getting a bottle of water. I barely had time to register what was happening when another sharp pain wracked my body.

“Contractions,” I gasped with sudden clarity. “I’m having contractions.”

And they weren’t far apart. How was that even possible? They were supposed to start slowly and come in increasingly shorter intervals.

I dug my mobile out of my pocket to call Giorgia.

“Rosa, _cara_ , are you all right?” she asked, sounding a little distracted.

“I’m in labour. My water just broke, and the contractions are coming in short intervals,” I said, bracing myself on the edge of the kitchen table. Bending forwards seemed to do the trick of getting me more comfortable, and I could breathe a little more easily.

“I’m about to deliver a baby, but I’ll try to be with you as fast as I can,” she said, sounding the very picture of calmness itself. How could she? “Wash your hands and between your legs and try to get comfortable. Whatever happens, don’t push yet, you hear me?”

We’d gone through the birth countless times. She’d been preparing me, but I hoped I’d never need all she taught me.

“It’s too soon!” I protested.

“The baby doesn’t feel that way,” Giorgia said. “Call the Doctor. I promise I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

I whimpered.

“Rosa?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be there. You’re not alone. Love you.”

Like that was going to help.

I called the Doctor. “The baby’s coming.”

“What?”

“The baby’s coming. I need you.”

His reply came after a short pause. “Yeah.”

“Right now, Doctor. Please,” I said. And just for good measure, another contraction hit me, lasting an eternity, making me cry out. It seemed to do the trick and it convinced him that I was serious.

“I shouldn’t have gone to work,” the Doctor said. “I’m coming. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

-:-

The contractions were very close to each other. I was standing at the foot of the bed, holding on to footboard because my back was killing me, but in one pain-free moment I remembered Giorgia once telling me that lying on one’s side slowed down fast labour. I promptly found relief once I’d heaved myself carefully onto the bed. I tried to breathe regularly and suppress the urge to push.

The calm that came with lying down was short lived, though. “It’s too early,” I cried when the Doctor finally came.

“No, love, it’s early but not too early. The baby will be fine,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. He was as white as a sheet. “Can I have a look?”

Moaning, I rolled onto my back and spread my legs.

“You’re still wearing your knickers, Rose,” he said in surprise.

“Oh.”

Somehow, he worked them and my skirt off me. “Where’s Giorgia?”

I shook my head. “It’s so fast, I can’t be having the baby now,” I protested, covering my stomach with my hands. The Doctor got his stethoscope and warmed the metal before putting it to my skin. He had to look a bit for the heartbeat, but when he gave the earpieces to me, holding fast to the other end, I listened and found the heartbeat as regular as ever. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

Another contraction tore through me and I tightened my fist around his hand, trying not to scream. When it was over the Doctor whispered, after a quick peek between my legs, “I can see the head.” He removed the stethoscope and helped me sit up on the edge of the bed. What was he doing?

“What?”

He sounded incredulous as well. “It’s crowning.” He stood to leave.

“What? Where are you going?”

“I need to wash my hands. And we need towels,” he said.

“Don’t leave me.”

He kissed my forehead and hurried off, leaving me alone with two more contractions. The second one was so overwhelming I needed to push. I felt as if I were being torn apart. “Doctor!” I yelled. What if the baby slipped out of me and onto the floor because I couldn’t catch him?

“I’m here, Rose.”

Absurdly, I saw how pink he had scrubbed his hands and arms, and the pile of towels he had brought. Then I needed to push again, and the pain become even more excruciating as ever. Doubling over, I channelled all my will power into not feeling the pain and just doing my job. Pushing. I dug my fingers into the Doctor’s shoulders as he knelt before me, ready to help our baby into the world. I saw the head, I saw my child’s head for the first time, and the Doctor wiped the goo off his mouth and nose.

“Now the shoulders,” he muttered more to himself than to me. He had the baby, he was safe.

I pushed and screamed as it became too much, this couldn’t be happening. I had barely been in labour, this was going too fast. “Doctor,” I panted.

“You’re doing great, Rose. Just the other shoulder and then it’s over,” he said. I saw him holding the baby, supporting its head, and I pushed and cried and with a splash of more liquid I felt the baby slide out of me.

“I’ve got her, Rose, I’ve got her,” the Doctor cried.

I nearly crumpled to the floor in relief. My knees were so weak I could barely hold myself upright. I pushed myself away from him, sitting back on the bed. Oh God I hurt. Wait.

“Did you say her?”

“Yes, Rose, it’s a girl,” the Doctor said, awestruck. “We have a little girl.”

“Is she all right?”

She wasn’t crying. I watched the Doctor as he held her upright and gently blew a puff of air into her tiny, red face. She didn’t like it, gasped and screamed. She finally screamed.

“Oh, oh, thank God, oh thank you,” I cried as I heard her voice.

The Doctor laughed. “Here, lie back, Rose, we need to keep her warm.”

Somehow I managed to shift and lie back on the bed, and the Doctor placed our daughter on my bare chest, wrapping her in a towel and the blanket to keep her warm. It was only then that I realised how cold it was in the bedroom. The fire in the grate had nearly burned down. I’d meant to throw another log or two on it, but I must have got distracted.

The baby had curled up on my chest against the sudden, outrageous cold, whimpering softly. Her warmth and her sweet, earthy smell were overwhelming, and I couldn’t believe that I was really holding my child for the first time. She had a shock of very dark hair, and she looked so tiny in the cocoon of towels and my chest.

“You did it. She’s here,” the Doctor whispered in awe, looking at us. I hadn’t noticed him sit beside us, the mess forgotten.

“Yeah,” I said, staring at him in wonder. “You delivered her.”

His eyes went round. “I suppose I did.”

-:-

Giorgia arrived an hour later, and much to her her surprise found that the baby was already here and well-taken care of, just like I was. The Doctor had cleaned and dressed her. I had washed over a bowl as much as possible, and the Doctor had cleaned up the mess. We hadn’t waited for Giorgia to take care of the umbilical cord and the afterbirth. It came out so quickly that we had to deal with it. All she could do was examine the baby and me, and help me nurse her for the first time. She gently nudged her as I held the baby to my breast, but as she tried to suckle, weakly at first, nothing came. We tried the other side, but it was just painful, and in the end Giorgia decided to bottle feed her for the time being and to find out what was wrong later.

I burst into tears. I had so looked forward to nursing my baby that my disappointment was beyond description. I still couldn’t believe that the baby was here already, so much sooner than expected, but apparently healthy.

“You must have gone into labour last night,” Giorgia said, taking the baby so the Doctor could gather me in his arms. “Sometimes, it’s just like that.” He held me, rocking me gently back and forth. I had never imagined giving birth being quite such a shock.

“But… is she really all right?” I asked. Jonah’s birth had been just as sudden, and then I had lost him.

“Yes, _iyo_ , she is,” the Doctor reassured me. He was watching Giorgia bottle feed her.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Giorgia asked, looking up.

“Mia,” the Doctor said, “her name’s Mia Tyler.”

“It suits her,” Giorgia said, “I’m so happy for you. Congratulations.”

-:-

The Doctor and I had snuggled together in bed with Mia curled up on his chest and an additional blanket draped over us. I was studying her face, the dark crescents of her lashes and the tiny nose, her mouth puckered as she slept. She didn’t look wrinkled at all, like some babies do, but I supposed it had to do with the fact that she was tiny. The Doctor’s heartsbeat was soothing her. I couldn’t help running my fingers over the mass of her dark hair. There really was a lot of it, and it was longish and so very soft.

“Look what we did,” he said softly.

“Yeah.”

“Mia Tyler. What a brilliant name,” he beamed. He dropped a kiss onto her head. “ _Yanapili’sam_.”

“It’s a bit early to think about blossoms, don’t you think?” I teased. Trust him to come up with a term of endearment for our daughter. Our. Daughter.

“She might be born in winter,” the Doctor said, “but we made her in summer.”

I guffawed softly, tracing the shape of her ear. When I looked up to steal a kiss from the Doctor, I saw that he was crying. From one moment to the next, tears had started streaming down his cheeks. I brushed them away, and apparently he hadn’t been aware of them. He looked at me in surprise.

“I was so scared,” he said. “I thought I’d drop her, or that something horrible might happen, or —”

“She’s fine, Doctor. We are fine,” I whispered, kissing him gently.

-:-

“We need a new one,” the Doctor said, waving the sketchbook at me.

Sniffling, I looked up from feeding Mia. I still couldn’t get over the fact that I wasn’t able to nurse her. “What?” Had I missed something?

“It’s full. No more empty pages,” he said, letting the pages flip over his thumb. I spied pages dark with pencil sketches.

“I think I know a place that stocks them,” I said, trying to smile.

The Doctor tucked the book under his arm and sat beside me for a kiss, cupping Mia’s head. “Perfect.”


End file.
